The poem can be heard at https://www.lyrikline.org/de/gedichte/todesfuge-66#.WmoOxk3cvX4 and on the CD ‘Ich hörte sagen’ (note 13).

Before you get very far with a poem, you have to read it. In fact, you can learn quite a few things just by looking at it. The title may give you some image or association to start with. Looking at the poem’s shape, you can see whether the lines are continuous or broken into groups (called stanzas), or how long the lines are, and so how dense, on a physical level, the poem is. You can also see whether it looks like the last poem you read by the same poet or even a poem by another poet. All of these are good qualities to notice, and they may lead you to a better understanding of the poem in the end. But, no, I’ve been asked to choose, to recommend. The poems I suggest here are this moment’s choices, not “the best spiritual poems” (a phrase weighing nothing in so intimate and personal a context). The “gates” are an equally personal selection of entrance points into spiritual life. Some of the poems are well known, others less so. Each stands representative of many others. Each also, for me, plunges into the heart of the matter at hand, bearing witness in some essential way. Reading the lines as written, as opposed to their grammatical relationship, yields some strange meanings. “Locate I” seems to indicate a search for identity, and indeed it may, but the next line, which continues with “love you some-,” seems to make a diminishing statement about a relationship. On its own, “eyes bite” is very disturbing. The objects which occur at every given moment of composition (of recognition, we can call it) are, can be, must be treated exactly as they do occur therein and not by any ideas or preconceptions from outside the poem, must be handled as a series of objects in field in such a way that a series of tensions (which they also are) are made to hold, and to hold exactly inside the content and the context of the poem which has forced itself, through the poet and them, into being. Mit wechselndem Schlüssel’, Poems of Paul Celan (1972), trans. by Michael Hamburger (New York: Persea, 2002), 58–59.

Search

Wright, George Thaddeus. 2001. Hearing the Measures: Shakespearean and Other Inflections. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Which gets us to what I promised, the degree to which the projective involves a stance toward reality outside a poem as well as a new stance towards the reality of a poem itself. It is a matter of content, the content of Homer or of Euripides or of Seami[18] as distinct from that which I might call the more “literary” masters. From the moment the projective purpose of the act of verse is recognized, the content does—it will—change. If the beginning and the end is breath, voice in its largest sense, then the material of verse shifts. It has to. It starts with the composer. The dimension of his line itself changes, not to speak of the change in his conceiving, of the matter he will turn to, of the scale in which he imagines that matter’s use. I myself would pose the difference by a physical image. It is no accident that Pound and Williams both were involved variously in a movement which got called “objectivism.”[19] But that word was then used in some sort of a necessary quarrel, I take it, with “subjectivism.” It is now too late to be bothered with the latter. It has excellently done itself to death, even though we are all caught in its dying. What seems to me a more valid formulation for present use is “objectism,” a word to be taken to stand for the kind of relation of man to experience which a poet might state as the necessity of a line or a work to be as wood is, to be as clean as wood is as it issues from the hand of nature, to be as shaped as wood can be when a man has had his hand to it. Objectism is the getting ride of the lyrical interference of the individual as ego, of the “subject” and his soul, that peculiar presumption by which western man has interposed himself between what he is as a creature of nature (with certain instructions to carry out) and those other creations of nature which we may, with no derogation, call objects. For a man is himself an object, whatever he may take to be his advantages, the more likely to recognize himself as such the greater his advantages, particularly at that moment that he achieves an humilitas sufficient to make him of use. Mindfulness Poetry is a powerful way to cultivate mindfulness. It is an accessible poetry that connects us with ourselves, others and nature. It also provides a space for self-reflection and contemplation. As we grow in mindfulness, we become more compassionate towards ourselves and others. The work of many writers, scholars and poets shows the many benefits of daily mindfulness in our lives, decreasing our stress and allowing us to be present in the moment and appeciate what life has to give us. I don't need the moon, i don't need the stars cause i have you! You are every things i ever dreamt of!

You are pills that cures me from each pain i face or i have! You make me feel safe and only safe and forever immune! There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. Thought is deepened by conversation. The poetry of spiritual dialogue sometimes takes the form of the one-sided conversation we call prayer—when not reduced to convention, a communication of the most pressing kind. In other poems, a dramatized dialogue appears. The writer, of course, knows that he or she inhabits both sides, yet by entering into the language of interchange reaches for a knowledge undiscoverable in any other way. First, some simplicities that a man learns, if he works in OPEN, or what can also be called COMPOSITION BY FIELD, as opposed to inherited line, stanza, over-all form, what is the “old” base of the non-projective. Mindfulness poetry is a powerful way to connect with the heart of the experience of mindfulness. Whether or not we have a formal mindfulness practice, mindfulness poetry can help us keep, or regain, our footing in a world of upheaval. They can inspire you and bring you closer to the wonder of living a mindful and compassionate life.Williams admits in these lines that poetry is often difficult. He also suggests that a poet depends on the effort of a reader; somehow, a reader must “complete” what the poet has begun. Reading poetry well is part attitude and part technique. Curiosity is a useful attitude, especially when it’s free of preconceived ideas about what poetry is or should be. Effective technique directs your curiosity into asking questions, drawing you into a conversation with the poem. Rhythm, cadence, intonation, punctuation, line endings, pauses, breath. The writer in conventionally punctuated metrical form can play them with or against each other, let them act in unison or in counterpoint and syncopation. It’s a far more sophisticated treatment of breath and line than anything in Olson. So I feel justified in contending that, while Olson-style free verse was new – it shook things up and helped people, including Olson himself, write some valuable poems they would not have written in the old way and added to the range of stylistic possibilities available to poets – what Olson was advocating was ultimately an unwieldy if exciting new fashion, not a technical advance. it is close, another way: the mind is brother to this sister and is, because it is so close, is the drying force, the incest, the sharpener . . .